This week’s weight workout is a 35 Min Body Weight Workout. When she says have a towel handy, listen to her. I’m sweating all over the mat and floor and it’s disgusting.

I had another bad dream. This is the third night in a row I’ve woken up from some kind of stress dream. Something about being on a roller coaster at the top of a very high building and going into free fall. I don’t need Freud to figure out the symbolism in that one.

I worry about finishing treatment. I want to be done with it but then I worry about ‘not’ being in treatment. Being left to wonder if the cancer is really gone at all and if it will come back.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to normal when cancer treatment is over. Nothing is normal anymore.

My anxiety is growing in leaps and bounds. I have to steel myself against every day.

Radiation treatment has been the easiest of the poison, cut, burn trio (chemo, surgery, radiation), but the closer I get to the end of treatment the more anxious I get. I won’t be doing anything to actively kill cancer cells.

What if cancer is left behind? What if it starts growing again? What if it comes back and I have to start this all over?

What if it kills me?

Go back to normal? Who am I fucking kidding?

Oh, and here’s another one. How am I supposed to be confident in looking for a job when I feel so broken and fragile? I’m like that one shame-faced egg among the dozen that’s trying to hide a crack while yolk is leaking through the seam and onto the carton.

I worry about looking for a job and having normal conversations that don’t involve cancer. How am I supposed to keep this concealed (because God forbid a potential employer find out) when it feels like cancer has taken over my whole life?

I can see the conversations with future co-workers now. “Oh, my hobbies? I read. I write. I run. Oh yeah. And cancer treatment. Can’t forget that one.”

The thought of telling someone new that I’ve had (have?) cancer makes me want to scream and throw up at the same time. And yet the thought of not talking about it is unimaginable.

4 Responsesso far.

You are STRONG. I’m sorry you feel like a cracked egg (what a great graphic), but you know deep down that you have the kind of emotional strength most of us only admire from afar. Who in the world commits to doing a daily blog when they get diagnosed with cancer?!? And one that turns her from a good novice writer to a really seriously good writer?

You will be totally competitive on the job market — probably more competitive than ever before.

Meg, look at all you hAVE accomplished in your life. How many people can say their name with be ever remembered for the 5 or 6 shuttle launches at NASA? How many people can say I have had cancer and I beat it? I know I cannot take the pain and frustration away but remember to SMILE it makes people wonder what you are up to! I still like It’s five o’clock somewhere! MOM